A Jazz Quartet Life

I hear a tight jazz quartet
smacking out lead-bottomed bass
tinkling a shaker, with a half-open hi-hat

some soft-fingered ivory tickling
peppered with a gritty groan
and cigarette smoke

I sit, and listen, and
I think to myself:
why can’t life be just like that?



music in the war

the Vietnam War has ruined so much good music for me
CCR, The Doors – I cannot hear the songs
without thinking
of bombs dropping
skanky Asian prostitutes and yokels abroad
smoking cigarettes and talking about Charlie
thankfully Zeppelin and Zappa
they seemed to stay untainted
un-coloured by the jaded brush-strokes
held by history’s hand

modern advertising in the head

we live in an age of constant bombardment
even when I take a piss there’s a sign on the urinal handle
whatever that means
before my face hangs a poster
I realize that now, as for decades
funk, art, rebellion and the fringe
has and always will piss in the flower pot
and so it should
so I celebrate this as I pick up a pint
that I found on the tank of a toilet stall
and drink it down
and cheers to you, fellow space travelers

attending the coffee shop gig

it’s hot with humanity and steamed milk
the baby-faced soloist on stage
has a voice that shakes
fingers snap against guitar strings
microphone turned up too loud
I can’t enjoy myself here
too much about this bothers me
from the heat to the people
and that bearded cretin behind the counter
I’d rather be curled up with my woman
and the television shows
and some poems
the world has a tediousness that bores me
all I can do is drink more
and hope it gets better

I like to think that I own this place

a song comes over the booming speakers
it’s a tune that I recommended months ago
to the general manager
even though I come in only once in a while
the patrons still listen to my music
I practically own the place
they should give me stock
or at least a plaque to honour me
maybe just a drink on the house
oh well
sometimes I’ll score a free shot
and, at least, I get to listen to good music
whilst I sit among the boring
and the not-so-boring alike